More Than Lies (More Than #1)(46)

“What else did she tell you?”

“She told your mom—who told me of course—about buying the studio and the house.” Of course she did. They tell each other everything.

“That about sums it up.” I polish off the last of my beer.

“Sums what up?” My mother walks into the room carrying a glass of white wine. When she gets next to my dad’s chair, he pulls her down into his lap with ease so she doesn’t spill. I’m used to this. These two are all about public displays of affection and always have been. It’s been a normalcy all of my life so it doesn’t gross me out like Mason. I’ve witnessed him turn and leave a room when his parents kiss.

“Me buying Southern Ink and Grand-maw and Grand-paw’s house.” Tara shuffles a few feet from me. I look up to see her standing up. She grabs her empty bottle of beer and starts to walk past me with a slight stumble. I raise my own empty. She takes it without me having to request another one.

“Bill?” she questions before leaving. Her voice is smooth. Most wouldn’t realize she’s past the buzzed stage and is well into a drunken state.

“I’m good, darling.” He holds up his bottle to show her he isn’t close to being done. I guess I drink too fast, but then my dad isn’t a big drinker. He has an occasional beer, but that’s usually on the weekends or a holiday like tonight. Tara and I started drinking hours ago. I’m certain she’s polished off one of the two twelve-packs of Corona we brought in today.

“That is major, Shawn.” My mom smiles beautifully at me. Her smiles always touch her eyes. “If all I can complain about is that my baby lives an hour away from me, then I’m doing pretty darn good.” She relaxes onto my dad’s chest.

“Major how?” I already live there and have for several years. I think of it as my home already. As far as the studio is concerned, it was either buy it or move to Las Vegas. It’s not that I’m opposed to the latter option; I’d just rather stay where I am. Chance offers me a spot every time a vacancy at his tattoo parlor opens. He’s been on me to come join his team for two years now. I can’t bring myself to accept his offer.

I look up as Tara extends a cold bottle of beer out in front of me. As I reach for it, my finger brushes across her wrist when I pull it toward me. Any possibilities of other reasons why I can’t leave are washed down my throat when I swallow the cool liquid.

Tara sits, picking up the electronic device to begin reading again. I look back toward my parents when my mom speaks again.

“It means you’re putting your own roots down somewhere. You’re choosing Oxford as a home.” She sips her wine. “I’m proud of you is all I’m saying, son.”

“Okay, Mom.” I leave it at that. Sure, I love hearing compliments from my parents, but they make me feel strange—not at ease. I never know how to respond.

“I’m going to head to bed soon since we have a long drive tomorrow.” My mom says to my dad.

“I know honey, but stay and watch the football game with me for a few minutes.” My dad doesn’t take his eyes off the TV when he speaks to her, nor does she respond to his request. Instead, my mom leans further into him, nestling into his front.

They are perfect; my parents that is. I’ve never met two individuals that pour off unconditional love the way they do. They are each other’s missing half. If I believed in soulmates, I guess that’s what they would be. But I don’t.

Maybe I just don’t believe in it for me. I don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought, and I don’t plan on starting now.

I glance in Tara’s direction. Her eyelids are closing and opening slowly. I’m surprised she’s still awake. We’ve both been drinking heavily for hours.

“Night, son.” My mom brushes her lips across my forehead. I nod my own goodnight to her before she walks past, doing the same to Tara. My dad mumbles something similar, following suit less than five minutes later. Tara and I are left alone with the light from the TV shining through the room.

I look in her direction. She’s leaning toward the right side of the couch, her legs tucked under her body, her head propped in the palm of her hand. Her eyes are fully closed now. Her purple night shorts are riding high, causing my mind to wander places it shouldn’t go.

The vibration in my pocket brings my thoughts to a halt. Retrieving my phone, I see it’s a text message.

Mason: Almost there.

Might as well call it a night. They’ll be here any minute, and with the long drive they will surely all be ready to crash out.

“Tara,” I call out as I stand, shoving my cell back into my pocket without sending him a reply. “Get up. Let’s head to bed.”

“Uh huh.” She moans, but doesn’t budge from her spot. Taking a few steps toward her direction, I grab her device before it falls to the floor and I place it on the end table.

“Tara,” I call out once again. She doesn’t reply this time nor does she move to get up. I know I’m going to have to carry her, and as much as that thought sends a surge of energy through my body, I don’t want to touch her. Touching her does things to me that I don’t like. Things I refuse to acknowledge wanting.

She temps me with the impossible.

Herself.

I polish off the last of my beer and set the empty bottle down on the table. Bending down, I gather Tara from under her knees and arms, lifting her off the couch and into my arms. A soft purr falls from her lips as her head rests on my shoulder, stirring thoughts of what she’d sound like lying beneath me with my cock buried deep inside her.